Wanted: Jaws
by SdeJP
Summary: The three intrepid fisherman pre-Jaws' final, all-out attach. Matt, Martin, and Quint


Quint eyed Matt in contempt. "Hooper! Make yourself useful! Stop playing with yourself!"

Matt shook his head, put the cards away.

Quint fumed. "Little know-it-all!"

Hooper mocked the fisherman, then turned his attention to Brody. "Chumming's fun, isn't it?"

Brody strongly disagreed. "Not on your life." He had never smelled anything so awful in his life. "Want a turn?"

"Not on your life."

"You boys listen to me." Quint stuck his head out. "I'm captain here. You listen to me when I give ya orders. Boy, you've tried my patience ever since you've set foot on my boat!" Quint snapped, setting sights on the city-kid. "Mutineers get fed to Whitey!"

Alarmed, Brody glared at Quint. "Enough of that!"

Hooper stuck his tongue out at Quint numerous times, pinning his thumbs to his cheeks, and wriggling his fingers. He made sure the old sea captain couldn't see.

Unaware of Matt's antics, Quint barked, "I don't need your city-slick attitude, or whiney snark!" Quint resolutely badgered, "You got that, poor little rich boy?"

Hooper let all Quint's snipes go. He, mumbling under his breath, silently marveled at the Great White's incredible speed. The shark was too fast for Quint's broken down tub. Maybe if they were in a nuclear sub they would've had more of a chance catching up.

Quint, along with being certifiable, was the stubbornest cuss Matt had ever had the misfortune to meet up with. The equipment and gear he had brought aboard were going to waste. Quint refused to allow him to put them to best use. Because he was the old man, supposedly knowing the sea inside and out, no one could tell him anything about what was what.

His word was law aboard his ship. No argument, end of discussion.

Brody had no voice in matters whatsoever. Quint hovered, watching Hooper with a critical eye. He liked nothing better than to point out and mock anything the distinguished oceanographer said, or did.

Matt groaned, purposely loud. "Quint, your boat's a mess of machinery! Let me employ the stuff I've brought. What's the point of firing barrels into the beast, and chasing it? Or, should I say trying to chase it. He's way too fast."

"Watch it, Hooper! I've had enough of you and your faith in your fancy gear! Admit it! You think you know _everything_, but, you _don't!_"

Brody grimaced, waiting for these two to come out swinging. They brought out the worst in each other. "Hey, you two, lay off. We're not here to fight each other!"

Matt stood down.

Eventually, Quint did too. "All right. All right."

Hadn't they sort of bonded over 'Show Me The Way To Go Home?'

Brody smelled the beginnings of a twisted friendship blossoming between those two characters, if they all made it out of this harrowing ordeal alive.

Quint looked at Brody with tolerance in his light blue eyes. Whimsy in them faded after a moment of eye contact. It seemed that Brody had a stabilizing effect on the cantankerous Quint, who cracked a slow smile.

"Farewell and adieu to you, fair Spanish ladies..." His eyes twinkled, mischief ingrained in them. "'Farewell and adieu to you, ladies of Spain...'" Quint left them, bellowing his favorite ditty. "'For we've received orders for to sail back to Boston...and so nevermore will we see you again!'"

"Catchy tune. I'll be humming it in my dreams, no, make that my nightmares, mark my words." Matt whispered to Martin, "You called it. He _is_ certifiable."

Brody smiled. "He took that club to the radio. He keeps shooting barrels into that monster...for what? Just so we can hook them back? What's the point? We're venturing farther out to sea instead of heading back, luring the shark in. He runs his boat into the ground, and expects it to keep going, like the Energizer bunny on Evereadys."

"No contest. He's a nut job." Hooper smiled back beatifically at him. "You and I are _the only_ rational people afloat. And, here we are. _Stuck with him_ on his boat."

"We'll survive," Martin bolstered.

"That's debatable," Matt tossed at him, sighing, casting another wary eye at the sea.

"Chief, need you at the wheel!" Quint ordered suddenly, coming off the bow. "Hooper!"

"Oh, yes, Captain, my captain?"

"Just what can you do with your equipment?" A newly-evidenced respect was in his voice.

"Come, I'll explain..."

Before his shipmates got into that conversation, Brody asked: "What exactly am I doing with the wheel?"

Matt sniggered, loving that question.

Martin had never steered a boat in his life. He had told Matt so, over and over.

Quint monitored Brody tentatively fasten his hold of the wheel. "It's easy, Chief. You know your boat directions? Bow, stern, port, and starboard?"

_I know that port is where the boat docks_, Brody thought. He kept his mouth shut, knowing better than to actually say what was on his mind. "Yeah…"

"Hard to port, Chief!" Quint ordered, testing him.

Brody stared at the wheel, waiting for it to respond. By now, it should know this order well enough to obey on its own. On a hunch, he yanked it to the left.

Quint prepared himself for the worst; he had a death grip on the railing. His intuition paid off. The Orca jerked to port, and he heard spontaneous whining in protest from the squeaking, battered vessel. Hooper was thrown to the deck, yelping profanity. Quint laughed loudly. "Steady her out, Chief!"

"Uh, um, yeah. Right," Brody muttered, spinning the wheel the other way.

"_Hey_!" Quint was nearly thrown over the railing by the sharpness of the turn. Quickly, he found his footing, as all good sailors would. "I said steady it, man! Not throw me over to Whitey!"

The Orca eventually steadied, much to Brody's angst, with Quint's urging that they sail even farther out to sea. Would they be defeating this wily shark off the coast of Portugal?

Brody looked glum, about to throw up his hands. He rubbed the back of his neck. "A lesson might help."

"Better go chum, Chief." Quint cast him woebegone eyes, and turned back to survey the horizon.

_Steer the ship...or,_ chum... Brody considered. He stayed where he was, patting the wheel. "I'll get the hang of it." And wished he had a bazooka to shoot the Great White with. Get it done so they could go home.

Quint hesitated. Misty in the captain's mind, The _Indianapolis _loomed. "'Farewell and adieu to you, fair Spanish ladies...'" Quint climbed the ladder, willing to oblige Brody. He would make the lesson super-quick. Softer, he continued singing, indulging in re-visiting the wee hours of this morning as the three had bonded over swapping scar stories, tales of survival, while crooning melancholy melodies.

Until, Whitey had come a-calling, as if the shark had wanted to get in on all the banging and thumping that had gone on around that table in the Mess.

With the sun high above, strong and bright, on this auspicious day, the ill-fated trio anticipated bringing down the shark, once again.


End file.
